Radioactive Sunshine of the Spotless Galaxy
by Alexeij
Summary: On the example of the Founders, humanity recovers from the Great War and expands into the stars. Centuries pass, and when a scorned ally turns enemy, the necessities of war break the technological and cultural stagnancy gripping the Council races. What happens when different players converge on Relay 314, led by the writings of an old, mad Matriarch? [AU]
1. 1) Matriarchs and Newsletters

**Radioactive Sunshine of the Spotless Galaxy, Redux**

 _Or_

 _The Author finally has a decent plotline for a Fallout x Mass Effect Crossover, but remains too lazy to find a different title, so he recycles the title of the first disastrous attempts (Which included the Longest Timeline Ever Written, not that it did it any good)._

 _ **Fair Warning:**_

 _This will be slightly on the HFY-side, long term, but I've grown a bit weary of fics where the Council Races only use rifles and body swarming, or who remain unrealistically stuck in the same technological lull for millennia. Twice more so if races who have been space-capable for thousands of years and intermingled in a rather integrated society remain ignorant of concepts and knowledge we have in RL, present day. I understand there can be reasons to explain this technological stagnancy (Asari schemes, Reaper manipulations, etc…) but to me, it's unrealistical._

 _So, as you'll see both in story and in the Codex entrances at the end of every chapter, I've given the Council Races plenty of reasons to dislodge themselves from the tech-stagnancy mire and develop new or better stuff on the basis of the ME tech-base. Which, if one considers the Geth weaponry, kind of allows for plasma weapons, though of a different sort and mechanism from the Fallout tech-SCIENCE!-base._

 _I'll use_ _ **LogicalPremise**_ _'s documentation-type stories in some aspects of the Council races. LP is such a great man that he's put those document stories up_ _free_ _for anyone to use as a resource, and the amount of work and care there is simply astonishing. So hey, thanks, man! (/GUSHING)._

 _Of course, this fic will be_ _ **heavily AU** for all intents and purposes_ _. For both the universes involved._ **2727 GTS (Galactic Standard Time) - 179 Years since the Battle of Haestrom.**

 **Hourglass Nebula/ Sowilo System/ Hagalaz.**

Deep within the only cruiser capable of navigating the perennial storm cells of Hagalaz, Matriarch Trellani sat before the Shadow Broker, comfortably ensconced in a posh hover-chair. As one of his Hands, the highest rank within the Shadow Network short of the Broker himself, this was far from an uncommon occurrence for the ancient Asari.

It was somewhat more uncommon that the information she brought before the yahg was enough to spark the next galactic war, but then again, only just so. She was approaching her ninth century when the Morning War exploded and rapidly ended, less than two centuries before. As a maiden, she'd fought under Matriarch Dilinaga in the tail end of the Krogan Rebellions. And as an Agent in the Shadow Network, more compromising and society-shattering information than she cared to remember had passed through her hands over the centuries.

After a while, even the unholy alliance between T'Loak and Ganar, or the ritural execution of the Batarian Hegemon's entire extended dynasty only became amusing distractions or nuisances to deal with, not so different from the STG's trite schemes.

Some days, she wondered if the likes of Jona Sederis hadn't the right of it, losing their minds and everything that came with it. Boredom, it seemed, was the curse of the long-living.

Today, however, Trellani couldn't deny the thrill of expectation coursing through her cartilages, stiff with age.

This was personal.

The Broker finished perusing the datapad, hundreds of pages of documents absorbed in a matter of minutes. His six beady eyes settled on her, contemplating.

"How much of this are your theories again?"

Trellani kept her face calm and inclined her head in acknowledgment. Inside, however, she blistered. "My last attempt lacked a... critical insight into Matriarch Dilinaga's mentality, I'll admit that. That's not the case any longer: Matriarch Aethyta, my fellow apprentice under Dilinaga, unwittingly gave me the last missing piece to obtain the correct reading key. The translation is as accurate as it shall ever be."

"A reading key that Glyph couldn't find before?"

"The Matriarch's madness had layers to it. It went beyond words, or even her philosophy." She flared her biotics briefly, the fields rippling in specific patterns that even a trained practitioner of the Art would miss. The Broker's eyes saw more than most, she knew, but biotics was one field where theoretical knowledge could only carry so far.

The yahg's upper eyes blinked in acknowledgment. "The University of Serrice will contest every word of this. You have no credibility left. The Council won't spend a single credit."

"I thought we weren't doing this for the credits?" A thin, sardonic smile graced Trellani's lips. "Their Prothean Studies faculty is little more than a joke in bad taste, considering what we both know lies in the Temple of Athame. They're just a sieve, a screen to maintain the status quo and keep the asari as the leaders of the Galaxy."

She shook her head, her leku brushing against her neck. "True, if presented publicly, the Council would dismiss my translation as the ramblings of another student being swept away by the same tide that drowned the teacher. But the Quarian Synod is eyeing the Traverse again, and this time, Aria and Okeer will support their push, should it come to war again. The Council cannot afford to dismiss this out of hand... and neither can we. Not if this 'Arca' is indeed what the Tho'ian asserts it is."

The Broker didn't speak for long moments, the labyrinthine panes of his face a maze of frightening ponderation. He set the datapad on his desk, then his meaty fingers touched one of the many info-feed screens surrounding his station. Several encrypted comm-lines were opened on top of the constant flux of data.

"You make sense, Matriarch, but the Council has demonstrated to be rather recalcitrant when strong-armed into a sudden change." Trellani nodded. The volus and the elcor were proof enough of that, if one looked cared to look close enough. The two races had been politically pitted one against the other for a Council seat for over a century now.

Now and then, the asari or the salarians threw them a morsel - an extension to the treaty of Farixen here, a SPECTRE candidate there - to discourage them to seek better profits and acknowledgment outside of Council Space, namely in the growing power of the Terminus.

The juggling had been going on for so long, even a blind varren would notice the trend, at this point.

"A stronger incentive is necessary," the Broker continued, "and the windfall won't hurt our other endeavors either. Nor will the opening of a new market."

Trellani tilted her chin up in interest. The Broker handed her another datapad, and her leku twitched in surprise. Still, she was a Matriarch, nearly five times the age of the yahg. That was the only concession she allowed herself.

"Evidence of a new race, on the other side of Relay 314. Fascinating." She scrolled further into the summarized version of the report, promising herself a more thorough read later. Then she frowned. "Right on the site indicated by Dilinaga's writings. Where does this come from?"

"A salarian automated long-range explorer vessel. It traveled the long way around to Relay 314's end system, in order to circumvent the Relay ban. Balak intercepted it on the way back." The Broker smiled, a rictus full of flesh-rending, razor-sharp teeth. "Far too long a voyage to be a viable first option for a larger fleet, not to mention the complications of First Contact. No, we'll let the Council and the quarians will shoulder the hardships, and then reap the rewards."

Trellani leaned back into her chair and crossed her hands in her lap. A placid smiled graced her lips.

"War it is, then."

The Broker pressed the forward button on his holo console. Quicker than a thought, the Broker's adjutant AI, Glyph, compiled the automated message with the unique specifics of the Broker's offer and sent it to what, in simplistic terms, could be defined as the most prestigious and dangerous newsletter in the Milky Way.

* * *

All across the Galaxy, the monitored, encrypted omni-tools of the powerful and mighty pinged and flashed with Shadow Priority communications.

Councilors Quirinus of the Turian Hierarchy, Tevos of the Asari Republics, and Jarrol of the Salarian Union were notified by their aides at the tail end of an open Council session. So were the volus and elcor ambassadors, not ten meters below on the petitioner's stage. Uncaring of the glaring breach of protocol, the Councilors retreated to a secure meeting room deeper into the Presidium Tower, while the press and variegated audience were ushered out in all haste by C-Sec, the indignant ambassadors among them.

* * *

On the Quarian Homefleet's flagship, the _QSV Raya_ , Fleet Admiral Rael Zorah vas Rannoch was alerted by his geth adjutant. The ongoing tour of the Outer Veil's colonies and shipyards was immediately halted, and Rael Zorah retreated to the ship's QEC node.

Twenty-seven standard minutes later, the entire Synod was in session.

* * *

On Omega, in the sprawling suite above the Afterlife, the Queen of Omega Aria T'Loak perused the Broker's offer with growing amusement. The gears in her head started to spin and overclock. Looking up from her omni-tool to her bedmate, Aria wasn't displeased in seeing Dr. Ganar Okeer deep in thought.

It'd be entertaining, and probably frustrating, to see who between the two of them would come out on top this time, asari or krogan.

* * *

The invitation to the Broker's auction for an untouched Prothean Cache, combined with the proof of the existence of a new species on the galactic chessboard to vassalize, reached every figure of worth and power across the Galaxy, from the High Priest of Khar'Shan and the hanar First Enlightened, to the Court of Corporations in Illium and a select few asari Matriarchs on Thessia.

Other messages were delivered at every level of the multi-pyramid of the Shadow Network. The content varied widely in details based on need and rank, yet remained pertinent to the auction that would soon throw nearly two centuries of precarious peace between the Council, the Quarian Synod and the Terminus out of the window.

From a disaffected CouncilSpectre, to a quarian Captain, to a turian logistics officer on the Citadel, to a humble salarian janitor at the University ofSerrice, hundreds of Associates and Agents received suggestions, bargain offers, and straight-up orders.

* * *

Matriarch Aethyta Sederis stood in her office at the top of the Trident Spire, overlooking the city of Trident, capital of the asari fortress-planet of Cyone. The First Marshal of the Cyone Militancy and grey eminence behind the Eclipse Security Firm glanced at the message and laughed a throaty laugh, long and liberating.

"Well played, Trelly. Well fucking played." The asari chuckled heartily, then a bloodthirsty smile curled her lips. "The second move's yours. Mother would be proud."

* * *

 _ **Codex: The Morning War**  
  
Prelude_

 _For almost two millennia, the Quarian Synod maintained an embassy on the Citadel. For half that time, long before the rachni, the krogans or the turians came onto the galactic stage, they pushed for a seat on the Council. When the turians were granted one for cracking down on the Krogan Rebellions, the quarian leadership was by all accounts rather displeased. Relations didn't improve with the sudden competition on the relatively scarce number of available dextro-planets, exacerbated only by the turian's newfound authority and their extremely rapid breeding rates._

 _Quickly growing outnumbered and affronted, with the Perseus Veil being the Council-aligned area closest to the Terminus, the quarians searched for a solution._

 _They found it in the geth._

 _Initially advanced VI mass-produced by the quarians as a cheap labor force and military power multiplier, the geth soon started to develop a form of what is known today as a Collective Artificial Intelligence. Alerted of this by an attentive step-by-step monitoring, the quarians, however, failed to resolve the complication before it grew beyond their immediate control._

 _Soon Rannoch, the quarian homeworld and the major geth production hub, was on fire with a geth rebellion._

 _Preemptive safety measures and the destruction of all comm-buoys off system managed to prevent the Geth Collective on Rannoch from spreading to the platforms beyond the planet. For six months, the quarian lay siege to their own homeworld, until the Synod made the call and the geth main production plants were destroyed in a heavy orbital bombardment by the quarian Homefleet blockading the planet._

 _The damage to Rannoch was extensive, but not enough to render the planet inhabitable. The Council's aid was locked pending the cessation of all AI experimentation and a thorough SPECTRE inspection of all facilities related to the geth development, and the immediate termination of all geth platforms outside Rannoch. The quarians, stubborn and affronted, refused._

 _Later, the only quarian SPECTRE informed the Council that the quarians were already working on a new form of geth, one whose associative abilities would be contained and severely limited to avoid another insurgency, or worse._

 _The Council unanimously vetoed the quarians' actions, promising sanctions and repercussions if the geth development wasn't dropped immediately. The quarians replied that they would comply as soon as the Council contributed to the defense of the Perseus Veil from the Terminus and guaranteed the quarians' colonization rights in the Attican Traverse._

 _In 2468 GTS, the Council refused and the quarians recalled their Ambassador from the Citadel, shutting down all forms of official communication with the Council. Quarian activity outside the Perseus Veil dried to a trickle, as did the number of quarians travelers in Council space._

SPECTRE _investigators and diplomatic parties were rebuffed firmly and the Council considered forcing the matter when a diplomatic ship was nearly fired upon._

 _Ultimately, despite the Turian Hierarchy campaigning in support, the motion wasn't approved by the Salarian Union and the Asari Republics. For the following eighty years, STG teams would try to penetrate the Perseus Veil with few successes to show beyond linking more and more quarian activities with the Queen of Omega and the exiled krogan clan of Ganar. For most of that time, the Council's Third Fleet would remain parked in the Far Rim Cluster, until mounting tensions with the Terminus Warlords and a particularly destructive raid deep within the Black Rim didn't force the Fleet back into Council space._

 _Then, in 2548 GTS, the quarian Second, Third, Fifth and Sixth Fleets jumped out of the Perseus Veil._

* * *

 _AN: The Broker Newsletter scene was inspired in no small amount by John Wick 2. You know the scene. As for the quarians containing the Geth Rebellion, there are a few inconsistencies when it comes to the formation of the Migrant Fleet. The most poignant point, pervasive incompetence aside, would be that if the quarian Fleet was orbiting Rannoch at the time of the escape, why didn't they shell the Geth's nodes and servers from orbit?_

 _Anyway, chapter's brief, but I hope you enjoyed. The Fallout perspective is next. Feel free to leave a_ _ **review**_ _. Can't know if I'm fucking this up (again x3) without some solid feedback._


	2. 2) Oleg Petrovsky

**October 23, 2686 AUT (Alliance Standard Time) / 7 years since the Razing of Caleston and the end of the Zetan Wars**

 **Shan-Xi System, Edge of Founders' Alliance Space.**

Contrary to planetside, the commemorations for the 609th anniversary of the Great War were rather subdued on the flagship of the Shan-Xi Colonial Defense Fleet, the carrier-cruiser _FAC Lily Bowen_. Alliance Military regulations made no exceptions to the standard twelve-hours crew rotations or alcohol consumption, nor were any extra leave permits issued.

Rear-Admiral Oleg Petrovsky approved of this policy. The festivity was one he always found rather strident with the Alliance principles and the Founders' teachings. To celebrate – because the somber tones were short-lived outside the official ceremonies – the near extinction of their race only served to cheapen the lesson in blatant human stupidity and baseness one could draw from history.

It didn't matter that, ultimately, it was the zetans who pressed the big red button of the apocalypse. Humanity had reached that point of tension all by itself. Even if the thrice-accursed xenos hadn't given that push, someone else would have soon enough.

The CIC's quiet buzz of private conversations and routine reports was suddenly shattered as the Sensors officer shouted in alarm.

"Sir! Relay-02's powering up!"

That brought Petrovsky out of his musings and his chair really damn fast. Alliance Command had been adamant on keeping Relay-02 sealed, for the time being. They even denied a passing flotilla of Wanderers the permission to activate it in their ever-lasting search for the Lone Wanderer. He hadn't received any orders that the Court's deliberation on the matter had changed.

A shiver ran down his spine, the fear familiar and invigorating.

He didn't need to glance at the holo tactical map of the system, having memorized it the moment he was promoted to lead the SCDF. The denomination of Fleet was rather lofty for a single carrier-cruiser, four destroyers and a dozen corvettes, all of them belonging to the last generation cranked out by Earth's titanic assembly-lines and Jupiter's orbital dockyards before the end of the Zetan Wars.

Still, it was a force that could turn aside all but the heaviest Brotherhood incursion, or cripple them enough to make any planetary operation a suicide.

A force that, however, was on picket duty around Shan-Xi Relay-01, leading deeper into Alliance territory. The wrong Relay.

"Kyle, sound the alarm to general quarters and bring the fleet to alert status. All ships, prepare for coordinated FTL micro-jump, assume defensive positions twenty million clicks from Relay-02. Comms, alert Planetary Command. 'Unauthorized activation of the Relay. We may have Brotherhood inbound.'"

The _Lily Bowen_ shook slightly under his feet as the eezo core revved up. On some sensor feeds, the inky blackness of space lit up with the kaleidoscope of FTL travel as the carrier-cruiser was enveloped by a bubble of dark energy and shot forward.

The _Lily Bowen_ emerged to its destination less than three minutes later. On the holo tactical map, Petrovsky saw Relay-02, the thirty-kilometer-long tuning fork alight with dark energy and its spinning containment field. The blips representing the rest of the SCDF appeared about at the same time on the tactical map.

"Drift acceptable: thirty-thousand-and-two klicks," reported the helmsman. "All systems nominal."

"Eezo core's stable," Engineering followed suit through the intercom, "We'll be ready for another jump in seventeen minutes."

"Good. All ships, reform in Reverse Spear formation. Wing leaders, acknowledge."

"Copy that, sir," the port wing leader, Captain Carlyle, reported from the destroyer _Twin Mothers_.

"We read you, sir," the starboard wing leader, Captain Taylor, communicated from the destroyer _Ronto_.

The corvettes and the destroyers re-arranged in two oblique lines converging on the _Lily Bowen,_ their positions staggered to avoid cross-fire and strike at enemy shield from multiple vectors _._ Just as soon the last corvette reported in, the Sensors officer piped up again.

"Multiple unknown signatures jumping through! Unknown model and make! Length-wise, by rough approximation, contacts are one heavy cruiser equivalent, three destroyer equivalents, twenty-four corvette equivalents, and one mine-layer equivalent. They're launching probes!"

Petrovsky clasped his hands behind his back. "Sensors, patch the readouts to my screen."

What struck the Rear-Admiral first was the disparity in what the picket drones monitoring Relay-02 were showing him. The majority of the ships emerging from FTL had an oblong and sharp outline, essential and functional, with two to four sets of wings in the destroyer and corvette equivalents. But even though ships' template seemed to be designed to heavily favor maneuverability and evasion, the destroyers, while maintaining the same winged design, seemed meant to tank shots rather than evade them.

The heavy cruiser was markedly different. Wider from port to starboard than it was tall, its shape and curves reminded Oleg of some fish he'd seen, many years ago, in an aquarium exposition on Terra Nova showcasing native species from all colonies of the Alliance. The lines were sleeker, more elegant, coalescing around a spinal central cannon, where the bird-like ships seemed to possess two.

That superfluous elegance was _somewhat_ ruined by the dozen or so torpedo or missile tubes protruding at various angles, but there was still a certain eerie beauty to the ship. The Rear-Admiral scoffed at the hologram rendition. Beauty had no place on any battlefield.

"Kyle, give me a rundown."

The small holoprojector beside the tactical map lit up and the warm green light coalesced in the shape of a one-foot tall super mutant in a perfectly pressed suit and a daring pompadour wig.

"So far, they aren't moving, Admiral," the Positronic Brain AI said in a bass voice. "Mass differential and spectral analysis don't correspond to any Brotherhood craft we know of. Their weight is inferior to any of our equivalents, but the average Element Zero concentration's far superior to Alliance and Brotherhood naval standards."

"How much are we talking of here?"

"At least twice the standard amount."

Petrovsky closed his eyes, running scenarios and calculation in his head. Kyle had only confirmed his doubts. This wasn't a Brotherhood raid, nor some form of zetan remnants, highly unlikely as the latter was after Caleston.

"Kyle, dig up the First Contact Packet and hail them." A murmur rose on the deck, one Petrovsky silenced with his next set of orders. "Comms, copy all the data we have and will gather and prepare an emergency burst message for the Colonial Command, then patch me through to the Governor on my private line. All ships, prepare for First Contact protocol. Start drawing targeting solutions, prioritize by tonnage. Do not power up the main guns until I give the order."

As he organized his force with a practiced hand, inside his mind, Oleg Petrovsky prayed to the Founders that he wouldn't be the one to start another Zetan War.

The custom RobCo Pip-Boy inbuilt into his cybernetic left arm buzzed with an incoming transmission. Petrovsky accepted it through the neural link connecting the arm to his nervous system, and the small holographic projector on his wrist flashed to life.

There stood a bald, heavy-set green face, not dissimilar to Kyle's. A thick cigar dangled from the corner of this super mutant's mouth.

"Oleg, what's going on up there?" The Companion Marcus, Shan-Xi's Military Governor, asked without much preamble.

"It's shaping up to be a First Contact scenario, sir. I have twenty-nine unknown contacts on Relay-02 with better FTL capabilities than my ships. So far, they aren't responding to our hail."

"Can the SCDF take them?"

"They are no zetan fleet. Preliminary energy readouts spike on dark energy, but their engines don't even match ours. I don't have much more to go on for now, but if this is all of them, we'll give you at least enough time to secure the colony and deal with what limps past us."

Marcus nodded grimly at the implication. "Understood. The ground forces are on red alert. Same goes for the ARCHIMEDES defense grid, and the evacuation to the Vaults will be complete in three hours. I'll send word to Earth and any forces in the area, then I'm shutting down Relay-01."

Oleg nodded in agreement. Vault 04 was far from complete, but there was enough space in the other three Vaults once the Militia and the garrison forces were removed from the equation. The civvies would just have to suffer through a bit of discomfort.

But if these xenos proved to be even half as dangerous as the zetans, then the time it'd take them to force Relay-01 open without the codes could mean the difference between Shan-Xi being an isolated martyr, and more colonies burning.

"Admiral," Kyle butted in, then nodded in deference to Marcus. "Governor Marcus. The _Lily Bowen's_ communication suites are unable to interact with the xenos'. I've tried all conventional ways."

Petrovsky knew the _Lily Bowen's_ AI quite well after eight years of service on the ship. Kyle had served on two of the previous iterations of the _Lily Bowen_ , both of them destroyed during the Zetan Wars like thousands of other ships. Both times, he'd survived by jettisoning his Positronic Brain Core, after complying with the demands of the Four Laws of Robotics. Even among AIs, Kyle was rather resourceful and proactive, fashion-sense notwithstanding.

"What about unconventional solutions?"

"I could attempt a one-way connection through laser point-to-point and upload the packet directly on the heavy cruiser's computers."

Marcus remained silent, even though he could have spoken. Having being appointed by Founder's Decree to the position of Governor, his authority on Shan-Xi carried even beyond his position as one of the last living Companions.

Ultimately, however, he left the choice to Petrovsky. And Petrovsky chose.

"Do it."

* * *

 _Accessing First Contact Packet… Redirecting to Info Archive…_

 _ **The Founders Alliance and humanity greet you with respect, xenos. Be warned, we will not tolerate any attack on our people, our sovereignty, and our right to exist.**_

 _ **Please insert your query.**_

 _Founders Alliance_ _: The Founders Alliance is both the government and military arm of Earth and the Colonies, ruling on the example of the Founders since humanity reached the stars. The main governing body is the Court of Companions, which assesses and legislates on matters of defense, diplomacy, terraforming, sentient and citizen rights, overarching economic policies, research, public transportation, space exploration, and eezo mining. Each colony is represented on the Court by their Governor, elected democratically by the citizens every six years._

 _Earth, as the seat of the Alliance Military, is also represented by the Alliance Grand Admiral, who, in the absence of any of the Founders, also acts as the mediator to every session. Voting seats are also reserved in perpetuity to the living Companions, whatever their nature and race, and, obviously, to the living Founders._

 _Due to the common military background and pervasive practical mentality forged by the Zetan Wars, most matters tend to be solved rather quickly, to the enduring prosperity of the Alliance._

 _Positronic Brain AI_ _: Developed by Alliance R &D under the guidance of the Vault Dweller (See voice: __The Founders_ _) in 2359, the Positronic Brain is a direct combination of the most advanced synth technology with the pre-War Z.A.X. AI prototypes. Positronic AIs are allowed to reach awareness organically on the Alliance R &D facilities of Luna through progressive exposure to information and interaction, a process that usually takes between two and three years. Notably less powerful than the zetan AIs, the Positronic AIs remain ultimately more stable and almost immune to rampancy. In fact, no episodes of sudden AI rampancy have been witnessed by the Alliance in over three-hundred years, outside of a contained environment. It is also fair to say that the Alliance exponential advances in technology and humanity's very survival against the zetans are largely due to the AIs' unprecedented capabilities of gathering, processing and combining data into new solutions. _

_Positronic AIs serve on all Alliance ships of tonnage superior to cruiser and support the daily administration of all Alliance colonies. If undamaged, Positronic AI can remain operative and stable for over two centuries, though damage to their Brain increases the risks exponentially. Positronic AIs can also be supported by mobile robotic chassis, though many AIs confess to find the option rather limiting, no matter how advanced or eclectic the platform._

* * *

 _AN: My thanks to Agastopia, guestErie, and coduss for their reviews to the previous chapter. So, another chapter. I'm keeping them small for now, prodding and teasing the sleeping beast and see how it goes. Response to the first chapter was pretty damn good, a big thank you to all those who put this story on their favorite and story alert list, but we can both do better, both I as an author and you as readers. So, **gimme some feedback**_ _ **!**_ _and thank you for reading._


	3. 3) Tela Vasir

**2727 GTS – 179 years since the Battle of Haestrom**

" **Agaxia" System, on the other side of Relay 314. On board of the asari ACV** _ **Shifting Tides t**_ **orpedo cruiser, Ninth Citadel Defense Fleet.**

A small electrical discharge from the _Shifting Tides'_ Cascade Core ran through the cruiser as it emerged on the other side of Relay 314. It was a subtle thing, barely perceptible from anyone without a functional set of biotics. Still, it made Tela Vasir's _leku_ shudder in a mix of relief and slight discomfort that had her close her eyes to the warm blue-green lights overhead for but a moment, where the Spectre had stood down charging elcor Vanguards and blood-raging krogan Warlords without batting an eye.

Tela's discomfort with FTL was usually a trivial thing to endure, compared to the advantages and power the illegal - at least in Council space - Terminus gene-mods granted her. Right there and then, on the _Tides'_ command bridge, however, it reminded the Matron why she really, _really_ would rather be anywhere else.

Someplace like at the Consort's compound in the Presidium, snorting over a glass of Serrice Ice at all those fools who fed Sha'ira and her high-end escorts their deepest secrets for a caress and sweet word. Or hunting Blood Pack leaders and their vorcha hordes on Haeshtok with an omni-spear. Even that sounded rather enticing at the moment.

But the Council wanted her to secure and recover the prothean data cache on the other side of Relay 314, and there was no ignoring the Council's direct orders, even - or especially - by their longest-serving Spectre.

The Broker knew they, of course. Counted on that for sure, the fat bantaa. Hence why the orders he'd sent to her disposable omni-tool, secured behind an encryption that would give the STG's best twitchy minds very vivid nightmares.

Status reports and the fervent buzz of activity on the cruiser's command deck washed over Tela, taking her rather futile pouting and bitter, wishful thinking away with it, leaving her weary professional shell bare. She was in uncharted space and into varren shit up to her neck already, with the Council tugging on one side and the Broker on the other. Might as well double down on the juggling act once more and avoid going under.

Besides, it wasn't every day that she got to witness First Contact, and a not-accidental one at that, if quite on a timetable.

Tela discreetly stepped up to Captain's seat and stopped beside Matriach Ushela, looking at the holo-map and tactical data over her shoulder. The _Shifting Tides'_ CO, one of the notable few front-line veteran officers from the Morning War who didn't flock to Sederis' militant social revolution in Cyone, was rearranging her Task Force around the Relay's exit zone, securing a cordon for potential reinforcements, while sending out probes to double-check the astrological information bought by the Council at the Broker's auction.

The Spectre quickly took in the data sent by the probes as it overlapped with the scans delivered by the Broker. Five planets around a red giant, check. A burned, dry ball of rock, a slightly less burned ball of rock, an asteroid belt with a few automated mining stations slapped on it, a gas giant with a number of moons, and a frozen rock much further away, check. Even the garden world in the habitable belt seemed nothing special, its greens and blues stained only by orbiting debris and small asteroinds..

Then the Sensors officer broke the monotony and made things interesting.

"Captain, our probes have pinpointed drones of unknown make and model two million clicks away. I'm detecting incoming laser scans. Whoever they are, they know we're here… Captain, gravitational distortions nineteen million clicks in front of us!"

Ushela didn't even look up. "Time until arrival?"

"One-hundred-eighty seconds to FTL exit."

"All ships, re-arrange in a Double Echelon. Cruisers _Anthrax_ and _Carinus_ , be prepared to jump into a starboard-flanking position with your escorts at my command."

And then they were there. Fleet lined up against fleet. Even a ground-pounder like her couldn't deny a certain sense of expectation.

Tela regarded the video-feeds from the probes as well as the holo-renditions on the tac map. So, that was them. Or, at least, their ships. The yet unnamed race sitting on top the prothean ruins that threatened to throw the galaxy down the sink hole joyride once again.

"Preliminary sensor readings suggest Dark Energy levels are severely sub-par with Council standard allotments, Captain, but sensors are picking up abnormal heat levels around the engines, superior to our antiproton engines" the Sensors officer rattled on. "Superficial scans indicate dense mass profile on the hulls. Diffuse radiator arrays are… absent, Captain. The outer plating is composed of some material that doesn't meet any known specifics, and it's spoofing our deeper scans. I cannot confirm the heat of life-support at this time."

The Comms officer was next, "I'm not picking up any trace of comm traffic either on all frequencies."

A minuscule frown etched between Tela's eyes. Unknown materials, abnormal energy spikes, no comm traffic, no standard passive heat management.

Talk about a complete unknown variant.

Well, the Goddess had a sense of humor.

Their ships certainly looked alien enough, for a lack of a better word. Asari ships called back to the species' ancestry in Thessia's eezo-rich waters and were built to awe and impress as much as annihilating the opposition. The turians', conversely, were all raptor-like lines, a bunch of crew quarters and some poor excuse for redundancy systems slapped around the biggest weapon systems they could find. Strongest offensive and a sturdy, essential superstructure, not unlike the Palaven's predatory food-chain the Turian climbed as a species by talon and gun.

As for the salarians, the horns could crow all they wanted about elegance, excellent redundancy, and above-par functionality: to Tela, their ships all looked a lot like those Sur'Kesh bugs the salarian Councilor loved to munch on to put his speaker at disadvantage by sheer disgust.

The closest analogy Tela's brain could cook up for the unknown race's ships was, of all things, a krogan Graal Spike Thrower, minus the trigger guard and handle, on which some madman had then successfully slapped some oversized, green-glowing engines on, with large numbers of missile tubes and point-defense turrets splashed all over and an unusually bulky cargo bay on the cruiser-equivalent.

Tela remained impassive, but whatever reminded her of anything remotely krogan – or even quarian, these days - earned a warning note in her Bad Book of Crazy and Dangerous. It had been a while since she'd added something significantly new, and she'd have preferred if the tendency remained unbroken. Alas.

"They don't look like dead ships to me. Hail them on all frequencies and transmit the First Contact Packet," Matriarch Ushela ordered, staring at the holograms intensely, "then re-route any return transmissions to the diplomats' conference room. All ships, draw target solutions, but keep weapon systems on standby. We're not here to start another war unless strictly necessary."

No, Tela mused darkly, the Council certainly had other ideas than war with the newcomers. Why alienate a potential ally, virgin and naïve to the Galactic community and the scope of its political and financial backstabbing? Much better to turn this new race into an associate asap, or, if the quarians and other Terminus players interfered – as they were very likely to, judging by the Broker's playbook - even suborn them as a client race for their protection from the big, bad galaxy.

Tela knew for a fact that, behind closed doors, the Councilors and their government heads were already splitting the spoils. Her credits, if not for racial loyalty, would be on the turians: with the Volus' client status more and more a formality as the VDF and their mercenaries progressively relieved the turian fleets from the task of defending volus sovereign space, the pretty-birds would soon need a replacement to integrate into the Hierarchy and offload their failing economy onto.

"They're not answering to our hails, Captain. Sensors indicate no further energy build-up to suggest they're preparing to fire."

Tela eyed the alien ships appraisingly. Starship designs were one of her few hobbies, and these gun-shaped vessels had little to nothing reminiscing of prothean influence. Maybe…

Matriarch Ushela was just moment ahead of her in linking the dots. "Our comm suites may be incompatible with the unknowns'. Comms, inform the Task Force and send a message to Admiral Oraka and General Arterius on the _Valiancy_ : ECM and ECCM are likely to be ineffective or perform sub-par beyond direct laser interference and decoys should it come down to battle." Ushela wasn't to be deterred, however. If Parnack had taught the Council anything about First Contact, it was that visual imagery was a universal medium overcoming any boundaries. "VI, activate the forward holo projectors."

"Message sent, awaiting answer and –" The Comms officer fell silent. From her vantage point, Tela saw the pretty thing go cerulean pale, type frantically on her console, and then swallow. "Goddess… Captain, you need to see this…"

"Patch it onto my screen." Ushela's frowned in concentration, then her face darkened in anger and horror both at the new hologram. "What – Oh, Goddess…"

Ice colder that a Thessian Matriarch's heart shot down Tela's spine. Unbidden, half-buried flashes of Haestrom threatened to overwhelm her.

 _Hundreds of ships, reduced to slag and caught in the planet's orbit. Bodies hemorrhaging from hull breaches as the venting atmosphere pushed the dead ships adrift…_

 _Her body, screaming she pushed her biotics to crippling levels against those nightmarish machines..._

 _Bulbous eye-stalks glowing in the red-tinted and blue-splashed halls as the life-support failed…_

 _Melyna, her dear, lovely Melyna choking, her eyes bulging out and her skin freezing over as her hardsuit was ruptured by shrapnel and the bond in her mind snapped…_

 _Agonizing days spent waiting for a pick up that may never come, drifting in Zero-G through the debris in her hardsuit, unable to eat, drinking her own purified piss and sweat, with only her breathing as a companion and a single oxygen tank too far away from suffocating…_

' _Those are AI heuristics. It's picking apart the ship's firewalls.'_ Tela clamped down on the old memories and drew on her centuries of Spectre training and authority, caring little to overstep the boundaries of courtesy by ordering the _Tides'_ crew with their CO not a meter from her.

"Alert all damage control teams and the STG corvette to enact anti-geth protocols and purge all systems! The unknowns have AIs. Comms, patch me through to Admiral Oraka and General Arterius. The Council needs to know about this _yesterday_!"

* * *

 **On board of the** _ **FAC Lily Bowen**_ **Carrier-Cruiser.**

Kyle's hologram on the pedestal flickered, and the minute, holographic super mutant's thick brown lowered into a frown.

"It seems my attempt has been rebuffed, sir."

Before Petrovsky could devise a new course of action, the Sensors officer shouted, "Dark Energy spikes from the xenos' engines! Energy build-up around their spinal cannons! Mass Effect envelope detected! They're jumping!"

Rear-Admiral Oleg Petrovsky allowed himself but a moment of dread. A single moment, echoed by phantom pain from his cybernetic arm, the flesh limb torn away during one of dozens of engagements against the zetans and their bio-engineered horrors.

"All ships, prepare for evasive maneuvers! Full power to energy shields and point defense: enemy flagship is a torpedo boat! Kyle, deploy fighter wings. Starboard wing leader, prepare for flanking maneuver after their first salvo. Corvettes and destroyers ready to accelerate into knife fighting range behind the fighters. All vessels prepare CASABA torpedoes and Eyebot swarm-bots for cold launch!"

Behind his narrowed, cold eyes and pitch-perfect officer stance, Petrovsky's mind was working into overdrive, the combination of adrenaline and cybernetic implant slowing his perception of time just so. Working past the sudden surge of anger required him the extra time: he didn't realize how much he'd hoped for a peaceful First Contact, or rather, to avoid a reiteration of the Zetan Wars so soon, until the possibility evaporated before his eyes.

The stinging sense of failure only fueled the deeply-set, instinctual hate towards xenos that had been just laid to rest in the few years since the end of the Wars, but was impossible to get rid of for anyone who'd experienced the zetans' atrocities first hand. Humanity had suffered too much, for too long, and lost too many to the zetans - a _Founder_ and so many of the Companions among them - for that to happen. But now that the hope had vanished, there was nothing to stop it.

These xenos wanted war? They wanted nothing to do with peace? Let. Them. Come. The Alliance and Humanity would meet them head on… even if Oleg's himself might not be there to see it end.

The xenos' ships emerged from FTL much faster than any ship in the Alliance Fleet, short of a Mothership, could ever hope to, even before the Sensors could pinpoint their vector. Oleg's Reverse Spear formation was caught in flanking maneuver as it was amidst re-arranging to counter that said maneuver, only expecting it from a much slower enemy. Two of the avian-like enemy cruisers and their escorts decelerated on his formation's port-side, while the heavy cruiser with all the missile tubes and the rest of their ships – minus the corvette, he noted – had jumped in a straight line, less than ten thousand kilometers away.

Then there was no more time for thought.

"Incoming!"

"Brace for impact!"

* * *

 _Accessing First Contact Packet… Explore: Human Culture in the Alliance…_

 _Open: [The Chronicles of the Founders – The Parable of Sacrifice]._

… _The Vault Dweller's revelation of the Mars Archives and of the incoming zetan threat mobilized all the known resources of the newly formed Alliance, and created new ones where existing assets weren't enough. The ten years leading up to the First Zetan Offensive were arguably some of humanity's finest moments: under the guidance of Three of the Founders and Their Companions, past animosities were laid to the wayside, laying the foundations of the Alliance's future prosperity. For the first time in centuries, humanity worked as one, towards a single goal: our survival._

 _But when the zetans came, we realized it wasn't enough. As the bloodied alien vessels flew past the wrecks of the First Alliance Fleet, the orbital defense grid and the B.O.M.B.s installations fired every nuclear payload at the enemy fleet, but only managed to stall the zetans around Jupiter._

 _The First Zetan Offensive would have been the Last. But as the Vault Dweller and the Courier rallied the Alliance troops for one last, desperate defense, a single captured zetan craft took off from Earth and plunged into the radiation maelstrom._

 _To this day, we still don't know how They managed to navigate what even the zetan AIs were unable to. The Vault Dweller has told us that the pre-War scientist who created the Companion Skynet didn't realize what they were doing, tampering with technology they didn't understand._

 _What we know, is that their hubris saved humanity in its darkest hour._

 _What we know, from the frenzied transmissions that reached Mother Earth, is that the Sole Survivor led the Companions Cait, Danse, Fawkes, Veronica and every last Institute Courser spared by the Purge in a suicidal boarding action into the zetan flagship._

 _What we know is that the Sole Survivor and the Companions turned the alien's technology against the Xenos, cutting down the zetan ships by the dozens._

 _What we know is that, even as the Mothership was on its last leg and the Companions lay dead all around Him, the Sole Survivor rammed the ship into the zetan fleet, screaming humanity's defiance and right to exist with His dying breath._

 _What we know is that He saved us all._

 _Remember Their Names._

 _Remember Veronica's immense compassion and Danse's steadfast sense of duty. Remember how, against impossible odds and facing certain death, They tried to expiate for the sins and crimes of the Brotherhood of Steel._

 _Remember Fawkes' kindness, His unwavering determination in showing His kind a better future._

 _Remember Cait's redemption, her gauntlet and trials to rise from criminal to Hero, and how she eagerly walked to Her death to spare Her greatest rival and friend the same fate, thus saving two lives at the price of Her own._

 _Remember the Sole Survivor's conviction and His lack of hesitation in putting humanity's survival above His own life._

 _Remember. Reflect. Learn. Emulate._

 _May Their Example guide you._

* * *

 _The amount of feedback after last chapter was rather overwhelming, so thank you all. Here, have another chapter fresh off the press, to show you how much I appreciate your support. Special thanks to guest reader Zax for providing the link: I'm on SB as well, but I had forgotten about that one and it refreshed a couple of ideas._

 _My intention with this chapter was to show how some of the major AU events, aka the Morning War and the Zetan Wars, affected both society and the scars they left. In a way, you could say the experience was more traumatic for the Council species, even though the Morning War didn't last the_ _centuries_ _the Zetan Wars did: Humanity had been in a constant state of fight for survival and warfare since before the Great War. The Council, comparatively, had seen an overarching age of peace, despite minor conflict, ever since the end of the Krogan Rebellions. Food for thought._

 _Anyway, thank you for reading. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Don't forget to leave me some_ _ **feedback**_ _: so far, your response has been a blast! Keep'em coming!_


	4. 4) Interspecies Communications

_AN: Wow. Almost 130 followers, and the story clocked 3.000 views in about a week. I have had longer stories up for over a year who don't get that kind of coverage and readership. Huh. Anyway, this kind of support is really, really appreciated. Thank you all, from the silent reader to the most active reviewer. Keep it up._

 _Oh, by the way. Any mention of time in the "Council" sections refers to the galactic timetable. So, one minute = 100 seconds. If someone knows of some handy software for the conversion between our time and theirs, I'd really appreciate a link, thanks._

* * *

The _Lily Bowen_ 's superstructure shook even as its shields absorbed and deflected the kinetic impactors. Still, the overhead lights turned the blaring red of emergency life-support for a moment due to energy loss, then switched back to white a moment later as the systems and operators compensated. Contrary to all of his expectations, Oleg Petrovsky found himself still alive.

"Status report!" he bellowed.

"Energy shields at thirty-eight percent power, sir," Kyle reported earnestly, anticipating the recovering Sensors' officer. "The enemy ships tried to gut our engines with mass-accelerated fire. Port-side, destroyer _Twin Mothers_ is adrift venting atmosphere, three more corvettes destroyed or dead in the water. Starboard, fleet's two corvettes down, one's venting atmosphere but operational. Our point defenses were overwhelmed by volume, but they cut down eighty-nine percent of their missiles. I'm picking up localized fields of irregular gravitational distortions upon the sites of impact. The damage is extensive but superficial, the gravity rifts just ripped off our armor so far. ED-E swarm-bots and MBFs are taking off now, no enemy fighter inbound. Main cannon is ready to fire, firing solutions locked."

Petrovsky nodded, somewhat bewildered. The losses were heavy, but he'd expected to hear of total, crippling annihilation, or rather, hear nothing at all.

It was clear these xenos were no zetans. Their MAC fire was effective, more so than any brief attempt made by R&D that he knew of, but they didn't hold a candle to Motherships and prism cannons. The zetans wouldn't have left anything capable of flight, much less returning fire.

"All ships, CASABA out, cold launch! Main guns, fire at will!"

The carrier-cruiser shuddered as its hull flared and its plasma thrusters engaged, re-aligning the ship towards its target. Then a tight beam of deep purple light, focused by magnetic lensing running the near-entire length of the carrier, erupted from the ship's spinal gun. It covered the thousands of miles between the SCDF's flagship and the port-flanking ships almost instantly, and hit one of the avian-like cruisers on the prow.

To Petrovsky's diminishing surprise and growing sense of vindication, no energy shield lit up to interpose between the beam and the ship's hull. The laser lance impacted the cruiser with tens of kilotons of energy in an area not two meters in diameter. Exposed to several times the maximal heat transfer indicated by the manufacturers' specifics, the xenos cruiser's low-conductivity ablative armor exploded into a cloud of plasma within nanoseconds, and so did the first few million atomic layers of the hull proper.

The plasma, several times hotter than a star's surface, melted the delicate circuitry regulating the cruiser's systems, from heat-managing to point-defense, as well as its fuel lines. It pressed inwards, and as the hull's layers were blasted off, some of the photons' heat converted into kinetic energy, warping and pushing on the underlying structures.

Despite the entire cruiser's length there to disperse the impossible heat, the plasma melted through the bridges in a matter of seconds, until it reached the ship's drive core, piercing its shielding. With the Eezo driven up to critical as the cruiser still tried to charge another MAC shot, the failure of the magnetic containment caused it to detonate violently.

The back of the cruiser was shredded open in a deflagration that further destabilized the ship's antiprotonic engines, triggering the final step of a chain reaction that annihilated the ship into warped space debris and bursts of gamma rays. Eight thousand kilometers away, the after-image of the cruiser's explosion was immortalized by the _Lily Bowen's_ sensors, and from there burned into Petrovsky's eyes.

Assuming the xenos even possessed eyes like normal human beings, that explosion would have blinded anyone near a window.

The three remaining SCDF destroyers hit and killed two enemy counterparts between them, neatly bisecting one in two halves before its failing core shredded it into space dust. The corvettes' plasma engines flared and the fast, lightweight, heavily automated ships closed the distance. Their Tesla cannons powered up just outside of CASABA-range, gutting engines and raking the enemy crafts with deep gauges, venting aliens and atmosphere alike.

Then the CASABA torpedoes' engines engaged, and the missiles silently screamed forward both lines of the xenos fleet, enveloped in protecting swarms of ED-E decoy swarm-bots.

The xenos' armaments might be subpar to the zetans, but there was no denying they knew how to use them for effect. The destroyer-class charged forward in wolf-packs and fired another volley into the still maneuvering human-vessels, exploiting their superior numbers to overwhelm the energy shields by concentrated volume of fire.

The _Lily Bowen_ shook violently and Petrovsky wasn't thrown off his feet only on grounds of his artificial arm clasping on the holomap. Many hurrying crewmembers on the deck and more throughout the ship weren't so lucky, and the flurry of communications ground to a brief halt as the cruiser's hull screeched.

With Kyle busy with managing the fighters and what ECM/ECCM he could through laser pointers and infrared, it was a human voice who rattled the tally.

"Shields down! Breach in sector eight, venting atmosphere! Starboard point defense turrets from six to nineteen damaged! Blast doors sealing the area off! The port-side formation is collapsing, only destroyer _Ouroboros_ still operational!"

As he spoke, the CASABA torpedoes and the decoys entered the xenos' point-defense range. Over the holomap and the sensors' energy readings, Petrovsky watched apprehensively as the signatures of the swarm-bots were scythed down by the dozens by the enemy's red laser grid, inefficient by human standards but still highly effective, especially with overlapping coverage from the wolf-packs. Several torpedoes stopped dead or careened off target as well, their targeting systems or engines damaged despite the reinforced shells.

Then the first torpedo struck one of the destroyers' kinetic barriers in the main enemy fleet, and the map blazed alight with the sudden energy spike from the detonating thermonuclear shaped charge.

Petrovsky smiled grimly.

The latest iteration of the oldest weapon in the Alliance's space arsenal proved to be utterly devastating once more. The missile itself not substantially bigger than the swarm-bots on decoy duty, the CASABAs' on board computer registered the impact with the ships' kinetic barriers, and triggered the primary implosion fission bomb, which in turn set off a subsequent fusion reaction.

The cascade of reactions happened in a matter of nanoseconds, generating several hundred kilotons of pure energy and radiation The CASABA's inner beryllium oxide channel filler converted most of the x-rays into heat and channeled that energy to the fore, where a large fraction the thermal energy was transferred to a propellant of deuterium.

The result was a narrow cone of particles just over sixty-thousand degree Celsius that lanced like the fury of the Founders towards the xenos' ships at well over ten thousand kilometers per second. Devised to break through zetan energy shields and damage Mothership hulls, the particle shot overloaded the kinetic like they weren't there and continued on to obliterate the targeted ships. The triggered drive core containment failures and engines instability finished the work, swatting more than a dozen ships out of existence in mere moments.

"CASABA hitting for effect all over the enemy's formations! Port-side flankers annihilated to a ship, main enemy formation in disarray!"

"Press the advantage! Kyle, focus the MBFs on the enemy's flagship! Restrict the firing solutions, I want that ship intact!"

The remains of the Shanx-Xi Colonial Defense Fleet endured more losses by another full torpedo salvo from the fish-like heavy cruiser. They answered with laser and Tesla shots against its remaining escorts or precision shots at the nacelle points, while Kyle altered the course of the Modular Bird Fighters through their Integrated Synth Piloting Systems.

Unhindered by the inherent frailty of a biological pilot, the MBFs dived through the point-defense fire of the cruiser with high-g turns and a coordination unmatched even by the best fighter squadrons in pre-Alliance days. At Kyle's command, the twin LAER Pulse-Laser Gatling Batteries on every fighter's underbelly opened up on the heavy cruiser. Hundreds of purple streaks impacted the outer plating, leaving only shallow gauges.

"The flagship's hull composition is different, sir," Kyle reported through his interface back on the _Lily Bowen's_ deck. "Some form of layered carbon nanotubes sheets, highly resistant to heat. Damage's minimal. I'm passing for another strafing run, but the corvettes' Tesla lances might prove more effective."

"Focus on crippling its engines," Petrovsky reiterated as the last few enemy escort elements were mopped up by the remains of his fleet,"I'll prepare a boarding party. Captain Taylor, bring your wing around to the Relay's exit zone. If the flagship tries to run for it, gut it before it links up with the Relay."

As he'd expected, less than a minute later, after another ineffective fighters' sweep and a smaller third torpedo salvo, which was blown apart by the focused fire and point defense of his fleet, the Sensors officer alerted him of a building Dark Energy signature from the heavy cruiser.

Oleg felt a spark of envy: Engineering told him it was still another nine minutes before the Lily Bowen could jump to FTL again. The xenos' cruiser, a ship of superior tonnage, had a drive core at least twice as effective as one of the Alliance's line vessels, if not more.

With such speed and tactical elasticity at their disposal during the Wars, the Alliance's heinous losses in every major engagement against the zetans would have been reduced exponentially. The numbers of lives spared in the centuries of conflict, both in terms of ship crews and glassed colonies, was beyond Petrovsky's mathematical talents to quantify.

Suddenly, securing prisoners through the boarding action became a more pressing priority. Besides the cruiser's armor, the xenos' ships were inferior to their Alliance-equivalents in weapons, armor and energy efficiency, but even with those disadvantages, their superior FTL speed and maneuverability almost ended the battle before it started.

 _'Intelligence better break the prisoners and translate their language fast.'_ Oleg brought up his Pip-Boy and commed the marine detachment leader, ordering her to assemble boarding parties in the cargo bay. He waited for the acknowledgment ping, then brought up Governor Marcus' contact just as the enemy cruiser jumped.

Then the Sensors officer, her voice starting to grow rough, shouted in horror, "Sir! Relay's powering up again! Incoming signatures number in the -"

" _Founders_ …"

Hundreds of enemy ships jumped into the system with minimal drift in formation, their weapons hot. Only Petrovsky's considerable experience and training allowed him to keep his composure as the preliminary sensor sweeps flowed in, together with the delayed report of every ship in Captain Taylor's wing being utterly destroyed by the enemy's opening salvo.

There were hundreds of destroyer-equivalents and sixty-six cruiser-equivalents, as well as almost a hundred minor crafts whose superstructure hinted at being troop transports, enough to field a planetary invasion. Then thirty-two heavy cruiser equivalents, all of them sharing in the avian-raptor-like design, and sixteen larger ships with twin spinal cannons and of comparable tonnage to a Mothership, though they had over a hundred meters in length to it.

What made Petrovsky's blood turn to ice were the _six_ even larger ships, their tonnage only comparable to the theorized but never implemented dreadnought-class of Alliance Ships. Such large, lumbering beasts would have only made for prime targets for the zetans, against whom the age-old wisdom of high-mobility warfare held true: the best defense was not to be hit.

Right now, however, that didn't look like a feasible option. Nor was good ol' fashioned ramming, not with the FTL drive still recharging.

As Kyle reported his fighters shot down by such a fire volume not even his superior automated coordination could compensate for more than a few seconds, Marcus' green face winked on one of the screens, tight but unperturbed. He didn't even ask: the planet's ARCHIMEDES defense grid had enough sensor suites to pick up just what had jumped into the system.

"I've sent one last comm-burst to Alliance Command. Relay-01's shut down now. It ought to stop them for a while," Marcus informed him matter-of-factly.

The _Lily Bowen_ shuddered as its spinal cannon sent a solitary deep purple beam towards the battle line of the alien fleet. A twinge of hope and satisfaction lightened his heavy heart as one of the dreadnought-equivalents took the hit and started venting atmosphere from a nasty breach, yet kept on moving regardlessly.

Whoever the Alliance sent to relieve the system could take them, if they had enough ships. If the enemy didn't send more reinforcements. _If_.

It took three shots from a heavy cruiser equivalent to strip the Lily Bowen of its recharged energy shields. To Petrovsky briefly-lived surprise, the next shot didn't kill the ship, but only its engines, leaving it dead in the water and drifting as the artificial gravity failed and the emergency life-support engaged. The next few shots from lighter ships opened a few other breaches and compromised structural integrity, but also shut down the last point-defense systems

It wasn't really a surprise when Kyle reported incoming enemy smaller crafts. A boarding action. Of course.

"All hands, arm up for xenos' boarding action," Petrovsky ordered to his crew and the _Ouroboros_ ', the last remaining destroyer, in a very similar situation to the Lily Bowen. "Kyle, wipe all comms and navigational logs, every mention of Earth and the inner colonies, then prepare to enact the Poseidon Contingency on all ships. The _Lily Bowen_ and the _Ouroboros_ will act as field tests against the alien boarding forces. Once they overwhelm us, send all information to Shan-Xi Command, overload the cores, and jettison out."

"Sir, there could be survivors. The Four Laws -"

"- bind you to protect humanity, as a whole. If these xenos share even half a mind with the zetans, those people are better off dead, and they know it."

Kyle hesitated, then gave a very human nod of capitulation and winked out.

Petrovsky turned to Marcus. "Bleed them dry, old boy. Petrovsky, out."

* * *

As the Ninth Council Defense Fleet rearranged around Relay 314's exit zone and deployed comm-buoys for the Turian military leadership to coordinate back to the Citadel and the Hierarchy about the new developments, a single shuttle slipped out of the salarian Stealth Frigate _SSF Mauvai_ , a ship that, by all official accounts, neither existed nor was attached to the Ninth, unlike its more overt corvette counterpart.

The shuttle, its presence concealed by the same bleeding-edge lithium heat-sink technology and mimetic painting as the Mauvai, drifted the few kilometers to the wrecked alien ship on its secondary thrusters. Bringing the transport's port side up to the rather massive hole left by a turian cruiser on the ship's starboard, the pilot expertly matched the wreck's rotation, double-checked all systems to remain nominal, and flipped a switch.

In the passenger area, a blue light switched on.

Jormol Tuvai rose a digit to his omni-tool and opened a secured comm channel with the _Muvai._

"Squad Leader Jormol to Overseer Anoleis. Shuttle's in position, squad's ready for boarding and artifact recovery. Permission to proceed?"

 _"Permission granted,"_ came the clipped answer.

Jormol's helmet HUD flashed with the confirmation pings from the dozen salarians in the form-fitting gel seats all around him. On the top left corner, above the basic readings from their suits, a small timer ticked down the seconds.

Get in, bag everything, and get out without leaving a trace. All in forty-two minutes, by Overseer Anoleis' estimates and orders. It'd be a tight op, but crucial for the Union. More personally, Jormol knew his and everyone's breeding contract back home likely depended on it. No Dalatrass would accept a failure to father even a single egg, much less a proper hatch or a fertilized female.

The atmosphere was vented out and the side hatch slid open without a sound. One by one, the STG team engaged their zero-g thrusters. They drifted out of the shuttle and into the alien vessel, eyes twitching and blinking in every direction to take in as much detail as possible for their enhanced senses, heat and EM scanners out to pick up any trace of alien survivors the _Muvai's_ sensors may have missed.

They found none.

The wreck Overseer Anoleis selected had bordered on the lower limit of the frigate classification, but that hardly mattered when it packed energy weapons decades, even centuries ahead of even the most advanced STG prototypes. Any information, data, or samples of that technology ranked first in Jormol's list of priorities, and despite the rather annoying complication of a different tech base, the salarian Squad Leader had no intention of coming back empty-handed.

The team's entrance point led them into an utilitarian middle deck, as far as scans could tell. The area seemed to serve as a mess hall once, considering the over abundance of cutlery floating listlessly and the blasted bolted half of a table. The kinetic slug had punched through the ship midsection from bulwark to bulwark, nearly breaking it in two and leaving rather typical kinetic damage in its wake. The crippling hit, however, had left the core and engine sections largely intact, if unable to operate due to lack of a working crew and superstructural damage: subjecting the hull to the push of the thrusters would probably finish ripping it in half, Jormol considered quickly, alien alloy and design or not.

Several unsealed side doors led into bunk rooms, toilets, storage spaces, and even what looked like a common room for the crew. Further down the main aisle spanning most of the broken deck, a row of escape pods lined one side, none of them activated or used. The Ninth Fleet's attack had been too sudden and overwhelming.

They found the first bodies almost immediately. Jormol got a good look on one of the most intact specimen, finding the general anatomical structure rather similar to the asari, though the extensive decompression and kinetic damage made further field examination only a pointless waste of time. Curiously, however, they did present gender dichotomy.

More importantly, the dead carried weapons. Intact weapons. Jormol took in the compact structure of a sidearm, a mix of light polymers and metals, the surface sleek even as the structure remained somewhat bulky. He removed some form of battery or feeder from a slot in the side of the gun and ran a scan with his omni-tool on the small device. He almost dropped it - or rather, let it drift - when the readings a rather absurd amount of energy contained and shielded in a cylinder half as long as his shortest digit.

He was thankful for the darkened plate of his helmet: his excited, almost giddy expression at the moment would have been rather unprofessional by any STG standard. Salarians ought to be better than the lustful asari and the turians, with their melodramatic intensity and shallow facade of emotional control, but...

 _This!_ This kind of weapon and shielding technology, in the span of a few years of intense reverse-engineering even by salarian standards - maybe even within his own lifetime! - was bound turn the galactic balance over its head like even the geth or the krogan hadn't. And this time, it'd turn into the Union and the Council's favor.

The best part was, he'd yet to move past the crew deck, or get onto the alien's planet. Jormol felt sincere admiration for these aliens: their practical sense and ingenuity was almost salarian, never mind the horrfying results of throwing WMDs around like a batarian at an auction for asari maidens. It was almost too bad they'd either be exterminated for the multiple violations of Council law, or vassalized by either the turian or the asari, both of whom would proceed to smother this new race out of envy, fear, or simple interest.

The ticking digits of the timer ended that little lapse of focus. Jormol had his team bag everything - weapons, ammo, corpses, armor, the alien's wrist computers, a rather curious electronic appliance that could well be a food bioprinter from its placement, drifting fragments of the unknown outer hull material, even food samples and random entertainment articles for the newts down at biotechnologies and xeno-sociomanipulation.

He left the three youngest Operatives to cart everything back into the shuttle and was about to split his squad, one team to the command deck to gather sensitive data and one below, to the weapon systems, engineering, and possibly an armory, when Operative Fess spoke over the squad-comms.

"Squad Leader, I'm picking up heat signatures from two decks below. Intensity and concentration match GARDIAN point-defense more than fuel flares."

Jormol's blinking rate increased as he thought. The ship wasn't under attack. No heat signatures corresponding to life. Automated defense system in halls? What, or who, had triggered them? Council scavenger teams were still safe margin of time out. Maybe the aliens were cold-blooded? Hard to say at first glance. Vacuum cooled the bodies considerably. Blood was red, high hemoglobin concentrations from omni-tool scans, but that meant little. No, wasteful thought, scans picked up any heat signature above space backdrop. Advanced insulation systems, like STG's hardsuits? Possible. Weapons suggested advanced but cheap heat management tech, could diversify in applications. Had heat signatures another origin then... a trap, perhaps?

Jormol put those lines of thought on hold for the moment. Too many variables, not enough information.

"Overseer, Squad Leader here. Possible alien contact scenario in the ship, lower deck."

 _"Scans' accuracy is disturbed by hull material,"_ Anoleis answered immediately. _"Proceed. If contact's made, attempt to subdue, otherwise eliminate. Fourth Squad's on standby for hot insertion."_

Jormol lids twitched in annoyance. He wouldn't allow someone else to steal his accomplishments. "I read. Second Squad's proceeding. Jormol, out."

Jormol and the rest of his squad assumed a fast-sweeping formation and ignited their jet thrusters, angling down through the damaged section of the floor leading down to the deck below. From there, they briefly navigated the area until they found the elevator shaft, cut through the doors with a plasma blowtorch, descended another level, and repeated the process.

Turian boarding teams would have moved in slow, thundering units, checking every room along a single vector and maintaining a massive volume of fire and bodies to overwhelm any oppositions. An avalanche, sweeping the ship from one end to the other.

STG doctrine was different in these scenarios, especially time-sensitive ones. Salarian physiology and mentality just didn't mesh well with stationary fighting and damage-absorption, something that their bleeding-edge shield and omni-armor tech only partially circumvented. Moreover, time was of the , Jormol picked a fast and aggressive approach, splitting into two teams for converging fire lanes, trusting their heightened reflexes and sensor suites to give them just the second needed to react concertedly to any emerging threat.

The heat detectors guided them unerringly and they converged into the main hallway leading into the largely intact engineering bay housing the eezo core. The ascertained minimal risk of containment failure, together with the wreck's position, had been Overseer Anoleis' main reason for ignoring one of the larger frigate-equivalents and boarding this wreck instead.

As it turned out, the core bay was indeed intact, but not accessible. Whatever mechanism operated the reinforced blast door wasn't working, but a swarm of little robots and larger ones was hard at work cutting through it with dozens of lasers and making great progress on it by all means.

"Contact. Unknown drones. Energy weapons and armor plating. They're attempting to access the drive core."

The line remained silent for a long moment, giving Jormol time to observe the drones better. A round chassis with minute, directional thrusters, they came in two varieties. The smaller models, half the size of a biotiball sphere, had a lightly armored chassis with minute pronged appendages attached around a non-functional grill-shaped front. They were the ones doing most of the cutting, a deep purple laser firing in a thin, steady beam from the underside of their chassis. A repair and maintenance model, Jormol deduced: the tech might be different, but the design philosophy didn't look too different from many a flash-forged omni-drone.

The larger ones, three times the size of the repair drones, were another matter altogether. The exposed, rounded grid and the thrusters' muzzles were the only points not covered in thick, curved plates of armor. A series of antennas protruded from the front, top and underbelly of the chassis, making it resembles a floating, metallic cousin of the Mannovai's native bellspiner.

Bellspiners didn't have a large axial gun stuck on their chassis, however, nor did they hover in a precise, defensive formation of eight around the working drones.

 _"Disable them and gather samples, then return to shuttle. Team Four's securing the command deck and CIC for information."_

"Affirmative," Jormol nearly spat, annoyance and bitterness cracking his professionalism. There went his recognition. No, no, he could still salvage it. Bringing back some unique samples, possibly intact, would still bolster his pedigree. "Form up, two lines. Snapflacks on drones and concentrate fire on defenders. If hardened, switch to grenade packets. Watch out, might be AI directed. On my mark." Jormol levelled his rifle at one of the larger robots, who suddenly twitched. All eight defenders turned at him. "Mark!"

Snapflak grenades went flying from underbarrels and throwing arms, the lack of gravity only speeding them up. Jormol and three more operatives engaged their magnetic boots for stability and started laying down precise suppressive fire even as the grenades flew. The rest of the squad broke from cover, speeding down the corridor on their thrusters for the cover of the archways further on.

It all happened dazzlingly fast, even for a salarian's mind. Two of the defenders went down to the sudden bursts of salarian precision fire, shuddering and bobbing before more accelerated fire tore through their thick armor. In response, the six remaining robots opened fire on the snapflak grenades, purple beams of energy burning up the EMP components and triggering the secondary explosion that blanketed the corridor with shrapnel.

Having timed reaching their new cover two seconds and a half before the grenades set off, most of Jormol's team was caught in the open. The shields of the two operatives in the lead flared with the accelerated shrapnel and would have held, if several grenades hadn't been detonated at the same time. A heartbeat later, the blue flare of kinetic barriers died and the searing hot bits of metal tore into the light hardsuits of the two STG salarians where the omni-armor didn't protect them.

Their vitals glowed black into Jormol's HUD, plunging vertiginously to unsustainable levels. He was too slow to react, however. They all were. Realization and the ensuing order hadn't yet burned through his synapses when the defenders adjusted their aim and more beams of lasers lanced through his operatives, still caught in the open.

One, then two more literally melted into their suits, and the lasers ignited the jetpacks' fuel into small explosions that were immediately choked by the void. The last operative, his heartbeat going haywire on the HUD, managed to slam into cover and shoot a tight packet of micro-grenades from his rifle's underbarrel.

 _"Squad Leader, fall back,"_ Anoleis ordered flatly, undoubtedly following the action through Team Two's helmet cams and a projected map of the alien wreck. Jormol pushed his heavy-rifle into overheating, taking down another of the defenders and one of the drones by combining his fire with another operative's, then switched to his heavy pistol. _"I repeat, fall back and regroup with Team Four at the elevator."_

"Negative, Overseer! They're almost through the blast doors!"

For the life of his, he couldn't pinpoint why that was important, but it was. His hardsuit's medical suite injected combat stims into him, and artificial combat clarity returned, yet bringing no definite answer.

The packet of micro-grenades was intercepted by a laser beam two-thirds of the way there and exploded, sending two of the defenders reeling as their thrusters flared to compensate. The bold vanguard operative took advantage of that, even as the head of one of Jormol's rear-teamers neatly evaporated, light helmet and all. Another two packets, shot in the wake of the first, slammed into the defenders, tearing through their grill-visors and sending the dying husks spinning. The triumph was short lived, as another of the robots swiftly flanked the lone salarian and executed him before he could react, only have one of its thrusters punched through by an explosive sniper round that tore part of its underbelly open.

 _"Very well. Team Four's retreating to the shuttle, ETA two minutes. Stall them for three. Overseer, out."_

So this was it, Jormol thought bitterly as he retreated into cover, the bulwark's corner briefly glowing hot with dissipating heat. The HUD flared yellow and then black as one of his operatives thrashed silently, his arm removed at the elbow joint. For all his dreams of a future Dalatrass calling him father, he'd die in the belly of an alien wreck, killed by robots, and another would take the merit and reap the benefits. Anoleis himself, maybe.

Zero-g combat in the void had the noticeable benefit of hurrying up the cooling of weapons. Jormol unfolded his rifle again, then signaled at the last remaining operative and the two of them sent twin cryo-blasts from their omni-tools down the corridor. The two remaining defenders were caught in the snap-freezing snare. Jormol engaged his hardsuit's thrusters and flew forward, hounded closely by the other operative.

Heavy mass-accelerated fire pummelled the two frozen robots, sending chunks of ice and metal flying. Jormol glanced up at the new timer on his HUD, noting that only seventy-two seconds had passed, as twin packets of grenades destroyed the cryo-trap and the robots inside.

Seventy-three. Seventy-four. They could still do it, all that was left was taking down the drones. Then a breach charge would make their way out.

Jormol registered the tiny hole in the blast door first, barely large enough to squeeze a biotiball sphere through it. Then he noticed the nine repair drones arrayed against him, they laser guns glowing. Even with his enhanced reflexes, he barely managed to bring the rifle halfway up before the drones' guns discharged and several purple beams sliced and melted their way through his armor and flash.

His brain, overcharged with combat stims, held out for another two seconds, long enough to see the last name on his HUD become black as well.

* * *

Nineteen seconds later, Jormol Tuvai was already long dead when the lone ED-E drone, a simple, mass-produced maintenance model remotely piloted by Kyle, initiated the Poseidon Protocol on the corvette Dog Town. The drive core destabilized moments later, just as the stealth shuttle was loading the last of the bagged human tech and data drives from the command deck.

* * *

In the operation control room of the _SSF_ _Muvai_ , Overseer Bel Anoleis took in the death of two of his five teams, as well as the near simultaneous self-destruction of all drifting-alien vessels with their drive cores or engines still intact, and ordered the helmsman to make for the gas giant and conceal the ship on one of its many, cratered moons. Then he sat down to formulate another plan.

* * *

 _Access: Shan-Xi ATAJ Library, Training Programs and Courses._

 _ID: JANA_SHEPARD_SXC002966 - RECOGNIZED_

 _Authorization: CADET._

 _Opening Files…_

 _Introduction to Combat Engineering Training Program_

 _Subsection: Field Support Units - ED-E_

 _Of all the Companions, dead or still thankfully among us, none is more intertwined with the image and day-to-day life of the Alliance than ED-E. The first Duraframe Eye-bot, a staunch ally and loyal friend of the Courier, even after His destruction in the pacification of the Divide_ _ED-E's legacy lives on in the trillions of units produced since before the start of the Zetan Wars by the Alliance war machine, for public and private use both. While they may not have supplanted the Mr. Handy butler model in regards to sociability and popularity as a domestic unit, the Alliance military, from the Navy to garrison forces and colonial police, have made an extensive and pervasive use of hundreds of designs across the centuries. The official designations are as many and varied as the developers and the units' intended role: from maintenance to collapsible combat-graded infantry support, from flying radio station to stealthy infiltrator and everything in between, sooner or later all the units are unofficially dubbed ED-E by their handlers and companions._

 _The ED-E is the best friend of the combat engineer, and in this course…_

 _Closing Files…_

 _Opening ATAJ Intranet Mailing System._

 _From: Balalaika_Shep_

 _To: SammyRookT_

 _Re: Come to the Techie Side! We have awesome bots!_

 _Yes, my little personal ED-E would be cute and all kinds of awesome… but that's one big string of nope for me. Nope. Nopenopenopenopenopenopenope._

 _Seriously, Sam. That's waaay more up your alley. Of crazy. Besides, someone'll have to be there to patch you up when you inevitably blow up your first tinkering home-project. And every other odd one after that._

 _Love,_

 _Shep_

* * *

 _AN: Yep, I said trillions. The Alliance adapted a rather efficient way, so to speak, to continuously replace their hardware against the heinous losses ratios inflicted by the zetans during the Wars, especially in the first century(-ies), where the population wasn't just that impressive._

 _As for the CASABA torpedoes, I researched the RL Casaba Howitzer project, fused it with a modern thermonuclear device and tried to keep the mix at least resembling some bastardized cousin of hard science. The numbers are probably a bit wonky, but then again, Fallout isn't Fallout without some SCIENCE! A bit of handwaving is allowed._

 _Anyway, biggest update yet. Shower me with **feedback, reviews, and critiques!...** Please. Thank you for reading._


	5. 5) Andrej Shepard

**October 23, 2686, AUT.**

 **Shan-Xi Colony, Edge of Alliance-controlled space.**

 **Around the time of the SCDF's engagement with Ninth Fleet's vanguard.**

" _Alert! This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill! All non-combatant population, report to their sector's Vault immediately with a maximum of one personal baggage item each. All enlisted combat capable residents, report to the nearest Vault or the nearest public building operated by Militia Personnel within thirty minutes to receive armament and orders."_

" _[This message will now repeat.]"_

" _Alert! This is -"_

It took a long moment for the ED-Es' blaring announcement to carry over the racket of the ATAJ's parade grounds and really register. The rhythmic attack of boots on the beaten training field, recommissioned to private self-celebration for the Great War 609th Anniversary, faltered, stumbled, and then stopped, as over six hundred students, from twelve year old newbies near the end of their first year cycle, to the seventeen year old cadets a month away from graduation, found themselves frozen in surprise.

Or at least, most of them were. Cadet Andrej Shepard's first instinct, the one thing the Advanced Training Academy for Juveniles' hadn't beaten or trained out of him, was to scour the profusion of heads for his twin sister.

He didn't find her. Instead, he felt her familiar presence touch his mind touch and her hand brush his elbow just as the drill instructors started to bark and spit foam, effectively silencing the looping message.

 _'I'm here.'_

He found her hand and squeezed it briefly, before his body responded to ingrained reflexes triggered by a superior's orders.

"Split up!" Chief Instructor Master Chief Petty Officer Ellison barked in his gravelly voice, green hands slashing at the air like oxygen had personally offended him, "Cadets, follow Sergeant Van Doorm to the armory! Everyone else, you're Sergeant Pascalis' shadows to Vault 03! On the double, you pissing maggots! The xenos won't wait for you to grab a toothbrush and groom your pretty faces!"

Stuffy parade uniforms weren't really meant for sprinting, but under Van Doorm's eager tongue lashing and inventive encouragement, the cadets made do. Andrej never allowed Jana outside of his field of vision for more than a few moments, his grandfather's words hammering at his ears like a bad case of insistent hangover.

 _Through bad and worse, Shepards always watch out for each other._

Grandpa Benedict all but tattooed those words on Jana's and his foreheads since their parents died in the Wars, long before either of them was selected for the ATAJ.

The sixty or so cadets cleared the inner parade grounds and spread orderly over the armory in less than one-hundred-and-fifty-seconds, shedding their mass-produced uniforms in favor of proper undersuits and armor. It was eerie for Andrej to find himself barely sweating as he stuffed the leather-reinforced official dress into his locker, a sentiment he found mirrored on Jana's and many other faces as the cadets armed and armored up.

It was one thing to study and even hear first-hand accounts of how FEV-derived combat-mods made this huge difference for the ground-pounders in the Wars. It was a whole other to feel his body change and adapt after the last batch of standard injections.

Andrej felt stronger than ever before and ready to bitchslap any zetan abomination all the way back to the glassed plains of Caleston where the butt-heads ought to have died for good. From what the instructors barked of xenos and enemy ships, however, it seemed the zetans hadn't kicked the bucket for good, despite what the Grand Admiral's public declaration seven years back.

He couldn't say he was _entirely_ displeased at the prospect of meeting the nemesis of humanity in the field.

An eager grin slowly spread on his face like a rictus as he secured the straps of his militia-rated combat armor around his torso and limbs, then he started stuffing his chest rig and pouches with extra fusion batteries, grenades, medi-gel packets. The full helmet went to a hook on his hip. The saturnite machete, one of the few Alliance standard issues to carry over to the colonial militias he technically was still a part of, went strapped to the small of his back by the magnetic strip attached to the thermo-insulant sheath.

Finally, he went to grab the standard-issue laser rifle and plasma defender combo, only to find a hand clamping down on his. Jana's eyes sparked with silent, burning concern under her helmet. Andrej realized the grin had yet to leave his face.

 _'Hey, snap out of it, 'kay? I'm counting on you.'_

For her sake, he schooled his expression and shoved the mix of trepidation, gut-clenching fear, and teeth-grinding lust for payback to the back of his mind. Grandpa Benedict's words echoed in his mind like a mantra.

 _If you let anger control you, it'll make you feel bold and invincible, like the world ought to break its rules for you. That's a surefire way to a stupid and useless death, son. By all means, use it and feed it, but don't let it use you. You kids only have each other._

Andrej nodded at his sister and secured the rifle's sling around his shoulder, looking away from her to eye the stacks of naïve ED-E units lining one wall of the armory. Samantha was slaving _three_ to her Pip-Boy. Overachieving, much?

He patted her shoulder, projecting back the first line from an old story their mother used to read to them.

 _'Never forsake me, and I'll never forsake you.'_

"It's all good," he reassured his sister vocally. "Thanks."

Her answer came a split-moment later, familiar and soothing like a worn glove _. 'I'll never forsake you as long as I live.'_

"Now that's goddamn jolly, Shepard!" Sergeant Van Doorm barked mockingly. "Thank you very much for the update! What else, a cup of tea? Move it and gear up, you half-Slavic shithead!"

Twenty minutes and a thorough bout of public embarrassment later, the cadets were arranged at attention by training teams. Dozens of ED-E units, from recon models to spotters to heavy combat, hovered silently above or around their masters.

Andrej, as leader of Team 9, stood one step ahead of the rest of his diminished squad of four, a single ED-E unit at his shoulder. Gorobitz, the team's sniper and missing member, was still hospitalized after a drunken bout with a resident super mutant during the last weekend of leave. The empty spot where the man would usually stand, between Samantha and Arnon at the back, annoyed Andrej more than he cared to admit to anyone.

Of all the times to be short one man, a xenos invasion scraped the bottom of the hole and started digging. Fucking moron.

Van Doorm studied the two lines of cadets and offered a begrudging nod. Then Chief Instructor Elison marched in, prompting all cadets without exclusion to snap at attention at the ancient super mutant.

"As you were," he offered, the bark such an intrinsic part of his tone, the cadets snapped to rest as well. "I'll be brief with you, cadets. Unknown xenos are about to invade our home! These are no zetans, thank the Founders for that, and the navy boys gave them one hell of a nosebleed before they went Poseidon, but they don't fuck about either! I'm told they've got some very niffy Prothean toys," the Staff Sergeant scoffed. Murmurs arose from the ranks, silenced by Van Doorm's withering glare in the background.

Andrej frowned, dodging the stab of disappointment in favor of a short-lived bout of confusion. A new kind of xenos? Really? History repeated itself, he thought bitterly. What the hell was it that gave xenos such raging hard-ons for trying and wipe out humanity? His grip stiffened around the stock of his laser rifle.

"Now, as always, it's up to us ground-pounders to get the job done. Today will be your trial by fire! Your blooding before my beloved Alliance welcomes you as the xenos-slayers that y'all are. We'll rendezvous at Vault 03 in fifteen and coordinate with the garrison there, so once the space fuckfaces realize that all the orbital shelling and Prothean knick-knacks in the world won't do them one ounce of good, we'll show 'em just how humanity does it and kick them off our rock! Y'all got the game plan?!"

Sixty voices shouted in unison. Even a few of the eyebots chirped and trilled along.

"Hooah!"

* * *

 **2727 GTS - 120 standard minutes after Ninth Fleet first jump into "Agaxia" System.**

 **On board of the turian dreadnought** _ **HDV Pride of Macedyn**_ **.**

General Desolas watched impassively as shuttles and frigates on salvage and recovery detail combed through the extensive debris field of turian and alien ships both. Reports scrolled on one of the holo-screen on his CIC. The updates came by the minute and were sorted by the ship's onboard VI for easier perusing.

It didn't look good.

The aliens' directed energy weapons were, simply put, more devastating than anything the Citadel had ever met so far. It was telling that the few escape pods recovered were empty, and the count of survivors trickled up slowly as drifting sailors and crewmembers were recovered from the broken hulls of those ships that still maintained some resemblance of integrity.

There had been no time to commence evac, or for the bridge officers to even realize it was needed.

Of two-thirds of the diplomatic vanguard under Admiral Ushela, only space dust remained.

The spinal gun of a cruiser equivalent had managed to pierce through the thick armor of the dreadnought _Indomitable_ , delivering nearly as much energy on contact as a direct shot by a turian capital ship's main APP gun.

Their missiles, comparatively, made a dreadnought's direct hit look like a slap on the wrist. Half the vanguard had been just annihilated in a flash of nuclear-powered particles accelerated so beyond the capabilities of any known and theorized Mass Effect application, it wasn't even funny, unless one was prone to hysterical laughter.

No turian worth his chops was. Desolas certainly wasn't.

Such overwhelming power, not to mention the nature of the ships' shield systems, was a painfully humbling scenario for the General, a turian, to contemplate. Turian naval doctrine might be subpar when it came to cyber-warfare, sensor suites, and countermeasures, but they took pride and advantage in packing a punch far above any know tonnage equivalent, and in tanking hits better and longer than anything but Silaris armor.

The General could feel the undercurrent of uneasiness this awareness engendered pulsating under iron discipline even here, on his flagship.

And yet, the new and untapped tech base wasn't what had Desolas so beset by concern, he was actually struggling to maintain the composure proper of an officer.

No, a gun was no more a danger than the will moving the hand holding it, a turian basic field manual recited. These aliens had shown a disturbing lack of hesitation by blowing up their own ships, rather than allow prisoners and samples of their technology to be recovered.

The boarding teams Admiral Septimus Oraka sent to seize the alien flagship had spottily reported heavy resistance, both automated and not, before those two ships as well had gone up like small stars.

Only the krogans and the rachni, or the most driven fanatics and secessionists during the Unification Wars, had ever shown such a commitment and lack of self-conservation. Even the ships under the Dread Admiral of the Quarians, Momol'Xen, spirits spit on his name, hadn't, unless the suicidal ships were manned entirely by geth.

The prospect of a future client race and Council associate that put the words _krogan_ and _WMDs_ with _energy weapons_ in the same sentence was enough to give even the battle-hardened general reason aplenty to pause, and not entirely negative ones.

As an immediate result, however, when the time had come to present their evidence to the Council, summoned on Spectre Vasir's authority, Desolas and the Admiral only had badly damaged scraps of hulls, sensor readings, and a collection of shaky helmet recordings from the boarding teams to present, together with their personal considerations.

As it turned out, the destructive potential and reckless attitude of this new race, or the fact that long-range scans had revealed another active Relay at the other end of the temporarily-named Agaxia System, wasn't even the biggest stain of vakar shit on the Ninth Fleet's collective face-plates.

Desolas accepted an incoming transmission, narrowing his focus on the holo-screen. Admiral Oraka's face was grave and composed, his Family's markings covering chipped and burned plates, each of them speaking of a life-or-death situation that brought the Admiral to climb near the top of the meritocracy and to a seat on the Primacy Circle.

"It's time, General Arterius. Bring the _Pride_ 's battlegroup and the troop transports in orbit around the alien colony. Frigate flotillas from the Third and Fourth battlegroups will render assistance with air operations. It's tantamount you pacify these aliens and fortify your position before the quarians show up."

Desolas' brow plates knitted imperceptibly. The High Primarch had attached the 397th Palaven and the 228th Taetrus Legions to the Ninth Fleet when the Shadow Broker's info packet revealed unquestionable signs of alien presence in the Agaxia System. A full company of the Blackwatch also bolstered the ranks, though their target, as well as the Spectres' and the STG's, was the Prothean Cache indicated by the mad Matriarch's writings. Furthermore, the few asari elements attached to the Ninth, like the _Shifting Tides_ , also carried a liberal amount of huntresses and commandos, Spectre Vasir's own retinue among them.

It was an impressive amount of force, even by Desolas' standards of heavy border policy. Certainly enough to intimidate even the hardiest Facinus dissident or Terminus warlord. Desolas harbored little doubt that it'd be enough to overrun the alien's brand of defense and resistance. Colonies, whatever the race, often hosted only garrison forces and local militias, while a rapid response force was stationed in the nearby hub system.

It was a tried and true pattern because it worked: the leader who wanted to defend everything, defended nothing. Only the quarians, with their endless geth armies, defied this principle.

The potential cost of the offensive, however, weighed heavily on his thoughts and long-term planning.

Because as per his mercenary nature, the Broker's auction offer had been only a thinly masked probe of interest. In a matter of hours, several parties had bought and received the information for staggering amounts of credits, resources, and favors. Peer pressure and deeply-set paranoia stemming from the Morning War all the way back to the Krogan Rebellions only saw the prices skyrocket into the ludicrous.

The Ninth Council Defense Fleet was the first to reach and cross Relay 314. The Council's emergency meeting had confirmed that they wouldn't be the last.

"What of the rest of the Fleet?" Desolas queried. It wasn't a challenge to authority, barely a request for complete information from peer to peer as they prepared to fulfill their respective duties to the Hierarchy and the Council. In that order.

"The Third and the Fourth battlegroups will set up a kill zone around the unmapped Relay. They'll catch any alien reinforcement in a crossfire and quickly gut them, then bring any high-ranking prisoners to the diplomats on the _Shifting Tides_. I'll keep the rest of the Fleet on guard duty behind Relay 314, minus a few frigate elements for FTL recon at the edge of the system." The subharmonics in Oraka's flanged voice thrummed, radiating unshakeable and inspiring determination. "No matter what the quarians throw at us, we will push them back. If the Synod thinks they can subjugate a new member of the galactic community with their robotic armies, they are sorely mistaken. Secure the colony, General."

The unease permeating the _Pride of Macedyn's_ command deck waned as the Admiral's words carried above the buzz of activity, tugging strings in the spirit of every turian hearing them, Desolas included.

Unlike the rest of the crew, however, Desolas read what went unsaid in the flinty eyes of the Admiral, silent words that echoed the High Primarch's private orders.

" _Secure the colony for the Hierarchy."_

The quarians weren't the only ones who were harboring possessive delusions towards the new race and their technology. Asari and salarian scheming and manipulation had the Hierarchy's economy in the gutter and the turian fleets tied up and bleeding hundreds of thousands of lives every year to defend their interests and colonies. Meanwhile, their contribution to the CDFs remained minimal, as per treaties signed in the aftermath of the Rebellions to exploit the Hierarchy's inflated ego at the time. As a result, most of their fleets were unburdened with the weight and responsibility of policing Council space and instead remained free to pursue and further the personal interests of the Union and the Republics.

The engineering of the volus' growing independence and the asari's disowning of the Cyone Militancy, the first concerted effort by elements of the asari matriarchy and military to take a proactive stance in dealing with the growing scum of the galaxy, was the last straw for High Primarch Fedorian and most of the high echelons of the Hierarchy.

If the asari and the salarians wanted the turians to keep playing meat shields for them, then the turians would secure the appropriate means to do so effectively.

Desolas cut the communication after a respectful nod. Minutes later, the _Pride of Macedyn_ , accompanied by its escorts, the few asari warships of the Ninth and the transports carrying the Legions, jumped to FTL, stopping only some thirty thousand kilometers away from the colony's atmosphere, outside a thin belt of small asteroids and assorted debris orbiting the planet.

It wasn't long before the entire planet was blockaded. All satellites were shot down by frigates and gunships, cutting long-range communications across the planet. At the same time, planet-wide scans mapped the surface, tuned for military installations and urban centers both.

Much to Desolas' surprise in the regards of the garden world, only a single, sprawling urban cluster stood out, situated in the equatorial belt. Judging by the size of the defense fleet that slagged the Ninth Fleet's vanguard, Desolas' projections had been of a prosperous colony in spite of its frontier location, with several cities acting as the fulcrum of intensive agriculture, mining operations, and industrial production.

That wasn't the case. The countryside showed only cursory signs of development, nor were any outpost beyond some motley collections of prefabs identified. Then again, Desolas' projections had been based largely on a turian model. These aliens could do things differently. Probably did. The how, however, somewhat eluded him.

Things became odder when the scans reported the lack of any considerable industrial infrastructure anywhere, save for a few complexes at the edges of a city that could easily reach a million inhabitants, maybe more. That was an unmistakable sign of a prosperous colony if Desolas ever saw one, and a major cause of concern if the aliens' degree of militarism was even only a fraction of the Hierarchy.

And yet, the colony lacked the proper means for so many people to be largely autonomous, a core principle of any colonial policy across all races: no farming archologies, no significant production facilities.

No sign of the planetside means that would allow for a single settlement to grow to such a magnitude.

To further the cognitive dissociation, what the colony lacked in facilities, it did make up in defenses. Desolas actually blinked when high-atmosphere probes revealed two concentric, tall metallic walls encircling the core of the colony, centered around a number of towers surmounting the bureaucratic and military heart of the colony.

AA emplacements and cannons dotted the walls and the tallest buildings in large numbers as well. Their accuracy was proven when the unmanned probes were quickly silenced as they descended, their feed quickly turning to static.

A military outpost, perhaps? And yet, even if he accounted the likely differences in design and doctrine, no dockyards orbited the planet. A tiny headache formed behind Desolas' forehead plates as he tried and failed to fit the data with any colonial archetype he was familiar with.

"Sir, what are your orders?" his XO, Captain Victus, asked after the last elements of the battlegroup had taken up their positions.

Desolas rubbed his middle and distal talons together in thought, then snapped them.

"Orient the cruiser groups for light orbital bombardment. Keep the kinetic output within pre-Morning War regulations. I want precision strikes on isolated AA emplacements and defense systems, as well as targets of opportunity. The second cruiser group will also begin a sounding barrage to locate any subsurface structures. Unless these aliens are complete fools, they'll have underground shelters against orbital bombardment. Those will be a priority for the ground forces: based on their locations, we'll establish landing zones and FOBs. Now patch the Spectres and the STG on my screen."

"Right away, sir!" Victus relayed his orders with flanging barks. Streaks of ionized particles lit the atmosphere in the wake of the light orbital bombardment by the time the STG Captain, one Irril Valern, and Spectres Tela Vasir and Avitus Rix answered his call.

Desolas didn't give them the time of the day. Spectres might be above the law, and their role a necessity, but this was his military operation, and he wouldn't allow wildcards to jeopardize the lives of his men.

"My ships don't have the precise sensor suites of your corvettes and frigates," he told the salarian and asari matter-of-factly. No use in denying the truth and hamstringing himself when time was a predominant issue. "While we pacify the colony, keep to high atmo and pinpoint the Prothean ruins the Matriarch raved about." He didn't bother to hide his disdain for the writings on Matriarch Dilinaga: a mighty warrior among the asari she might have been, but that spirits-accursed woman's stigma had ruined any attempt of dragging her race out of their wasteful culture for centuries, and even now, after the Morning War, her student's commendable efforts were sidelined by her legacy. "The Blackwatch teams will deploy once you've confirmed the location, and so will the commandos. The 397th third brigade will remain on standby, should you require armor support."

He'd expected some sneering, uncouth remark from Vasir's foul mouth, yet the asari was the first to cut the communication with a somber nod. The STG Captain followed suit.

Avitus, a Digeris native by his yellow and brown facial markings, lingered. On the backdrop behind the Spectre, Desolas could see Blackwatch operatives running checks on their Raptor battlesuits and assorted equipment for a hot drop.

"With all due respect, General, the High Primarch detailed the Blackwatch to my command, not yours. They'll deploy when I say so, and that's it," Avitus declared, mandibles flaring. On the high collar of his hardsuit, the twin golden talons on black, the insignia of a Blackwatch Captain, shone proudly and very visible, just opposite of the wings of the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance office. "The 397th's assistance won't be necessary. We've got enough heavy hitters on our own. Legionary units will only slow us down."

The Blackwatch officer turned Spectre cut the comms after that. Desolas let out a whistling breath, then dismissed the turian from his thoughts. He focused instead on the reports of the orbital bombardment and the slowly forming projections of the colony's underground, captured through a mix of geomorphological analysis by the scientific officers, and the propagation of kinetic energy and sound from the sounding barrage of mixed impactors from frigates and cruisers.

On the holomap, the signatures belonging to the Blackwatch transports and a number of asari frigates detailed to the Ninth entered formation with the STG corvette and picked an approach vector for the colony.

* * *

 _Codex: The Morning War – The Batarian Campaigns._

 _Contrary to what the batarian claim to this day, the quarian push into the heart of the Hegemony wasn't an unwarranted act of aggression. In the years leading to 2548 GTS, STG survey teams monitoring the edges of the Perseus Veil after the Third Citadel Defense Fleet was withdrawn reported numerous forays into quarian territory by large slaver parties with ties to the Hegemony's Ministry of Enforcement._

 _Experts and historians, however, generally agree on the near-complete annihilation of Haestrom, the first quarian colony outside the Veil, to be the initial casus belli._

 _Under Fleet Admiral Momol'Xen's direction, the Second, Third, Fifth, and Sixth Quarian Fleets carved through the batarian frontier like vakar claws, occupying an impressive amount of planets and systems in a matter of months. The reasons to the swiftness of their conquest are to be found in the condition of the batarian fleets, stretched out all over the Terminus in raids to counter the Council's embargo and sanctions, and the unprecedented nature of the quarians' planetary sieges and occupations._

 _The very nature of the geth as a self-reproducing, yet thoroughly shackled Collective AI meant that, once the quarian seized even just a few of the industrial centers of a colony, their machine servants would quickly refit the infrastructure to produce more and more platforms to support the ground invasion. In fact, the quarians would turn the defenders' resources against them and drown any and all forms of resistance under tides of disposable infantry._

 _Once a planet was pacified, the geth occupying forces would only need a limited number of quarian overseers to operate fully. This efficiency resulted in the vast majority of the fleets being freed up from garrison duties in short order. At the same time, the occupied worlds would, in short order, be able to actively support the war effort._

 _By the time the Battle of Camala came around, the first conquered batarian colonies already had operative orbital docks and were able to fend off several counterattacks by the batarian navy._

 _The Council's slow reaction was in no in small measure due to certain influential parties within every race's government supporting the quarian offensive – or rather, the batarians' downfall - very vocally, and the spotty nature of the initial information. Matters weren't helped by the batarian ambassador, who fought vehemently against the Council's meddling in batarian affairs, repeatedly calling the potential intervention of Citadel Fleets a "trespass on batarian sovereign space" in many a public audience._

 _In early 2549, however, the outrage of the batarian ambassador was silenced by the Council's growing concern towards the quarian unchecked expansionism, and their means to achieve so, namely the geth. A frail consensus was reached between the turians and the salarians, with the asari as mediators, and the Council once more geared up for war even as diplomatic missions were sent to try and intercede._

 _As the Council's fleets began rallying around the turian colony of Invictus, however, hundreds of thousands and then millions of freed slaves started flooding through the Relays from batarian space. The Citadel war machine was quickly repurposed to helping the refugees, who in turn spread the word of their quarian liberators and the fate of warrior and high-caste batarians, forced to submit to the very same treatment reserved in batarian culture to slaves._

 _As discovered much later on, a not insignificant number of these former slaves became willing, grateful spies for the quarians. In the months and years to come, they proceeded to create networks that'd prove quite effective during the early phases of the Morning War, if only in seeding geth vanguards throughout Council space._

 _Whatever remaining sympathy the batarians may have enjoyed in Council Space dried up in a fortnight, while the public opinion's support for the quarians, especially across asari and turian colonies, surged to new records._

 _With their hands tied once more, soon word came to the Council that the Fist of Kar'Shan, the largest batarian fleet ever assembled, had been crushed in a terrible battle around the eezo-rich colony of Camala, with hundreds of destroyed ships on both sides and the planet surface wracked by unchecked kinetic bombardment._

 _The Battle of Camala, however, signed the temporary end of hostilities. With the Hegemon himself taken prisoner and Admiral Momol'Xen's remaining fleets not a Relay jump away from Kar'Shan itself, the Council intervened to mediate a ceasefire that would appease both the public opinion at home and the quarians._

 _To the warrior and high-caste batarians, the Peace of Camala was an affront direr than the crushing defeat of the Fist of Kar'Shan. The defeated Hegemon was removed by the Pillars' Priesthood and ritually sacrificed not two weeks after his return, as was his family and all blood kin. After that, none emerged to take the position. Soon, the batarians retreated from the galactic scene just as the quarians had nearly a century before, leaving the Council in the precarious situation of guaranteeing their independence should the Quarian Synod begin another campaign._

* * *

 _AN: My, my, almost 170 followers. Over 1100 views in a single day. The support and attention this fic is receiving is humbling. Thank you._

 _Now, all that I need to be a happy Author is some constructive feedback. Don't be shy or scarce with those reviews, alright? Until next time._


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